


A Madness Most Discreet

by Jinxed_Ink



Series: Through the Cracks [2]
Category: Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5068816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxed_Ink/pseuds/Jinxed_Ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Where are you hurt?” I whisper, grabbing his hand in both of mine.<br/>His lips twitch into a smile. It doesn’t look convincing, at all. <em>Leg</em>, he signs with his free hand.<br/>He takes my face between his fingers, tilting it up and forcing my gaze away from his injury. <em>It hit the side of my leg</em>, he signs, <em>shallow.</em><br/>I nod, the tightness in my chest loosening, and I find I can breath a little easier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

“Does it have to be so freaking cold?” Magnus whines. 

“Does it have to be so damn full of slush?” I sigh, looking down at my boots. They are ruined for sure, the black leather stained beyond repair by days of trekking through the mud and the melting summer snow. 

“Quiet”, hisses Sam, sparing a glare for the three (well four, if you count Jack) of us before she goes back to peering over the bush at the gathering of giants. “They’ll hear us.”

“It’s a little too late for that”, says a deep, gravelly voice, the words followed by a chuckle. 

Feeling bile rise up in my throat, I turn, and look up. And up. He’s short, for a giant, which means that he’s easily twelve feet tall, with dirty blonde hair and rough features that make him look as though he has been carved out from stone. In his hand, he grips a morning star, the metal shining dully in the pale Jotunheim sun.

“Really? That’s what you’re going for?” Magnus rolls his eyes, not even shifting from where he’s sprawled across a rock. “What are you, a Bond villain?”

Sometimes, I wonder if the kid has a death wish. Sometimes, I’m sure. 

The giant growls, low and dangerous, refocusing his attention on Magnus. 

There is movement at the corner of my eye. 

A blur of color. 

A hiss in the air. 

The giant crumples to the ground in a puddle of blood, Sam’s axe sticking out of his back. She retrieves it in a fluid motion, a triumphant smirk pulling at her lips and her dark eyes shining with mirth. I had not even seen her going for her weapon. 

“Quick”, she whispers, glancing back at the campfire. “We have to go.”

I follow her gaze. The giants are getting up, grabbing their weapons and whistling for - “Are those dogs?” Magnus asks, eyes wide.

I suppose they are, although they are as a large as horses. 

One of the larger giants catches our eye, and his lips twitch. It’s meant to be a smile, but it looks like a grimace. His teeth are sharp and thin and gleaming. “We’ll give you a head-start”, he calls, and his cronies laugh, the sound high and keening. “It’ll make the hunt sweeter.”

Sam turns back to us, face ashen. Her hands tremble, but when she speaks, her voice is steady. “We should separate. We’ll meet at tomorrow’s campsite, do you all remember where that is?”

We all nod. 

She breathes in. “Good. Blitz and Hearth, you go north. I’ll go east with Magnus.”

He snorts. “Try not to sound so happy about it.”

She opens her mouth to retort - something scathing, no doubt, then seems to think better of it and simply sticks out her tongue at him. 

Magnus laughs, sounding startled. 

I glance at Hearth. He’s pale as a sheet, tough that’s not saying much with him, and his jaw is set, his grip on his staff white-knuckled. He catches my gaze and holds it, and nods slowly, eyes blazing. My heart skips a beat, something in my stomach twisting and turning. I clamp down on the feeling, resolutely. 

“Ready?” asks Sam. We all nod, as one. “Go!”

We take off at a run. At first I try to catch glimpses of Sam and Magnus, but the trees soon block my view, and the giants and their dogs are in hot pursuit. I clench my jaw and concentrate on running as fast I can, my legs straining. 

In the distance, beyond the sounds of our pursuers, a pack of wolves starts to howl. The sound sends shivers down my back. I have never been fond of wolves, but since last winter I have been terrified of them; I suppose you can’t expect to face down the Fenris wolf and walk away unscathed. 

Hearth his ahead of me, his long legs a natural advantage. I’m a good sprinter, but after a while I start to fall back, my head spinning, every heartbeat echoing in my head, my clothes sticking to my back with sweat. 

I stagger to a halt. 

I can hear the jeers of the hunting party. 

They sound close. 

Cool fingers close over my wrist. I look up, into Hearthstone’s pale eyes. There’s a flush in his face from the run, his breath is ragged and his blond hair is plastered to his forehead. He tugs on my arm. He doesn’t sign anything, but his meaning is clear. _We have to keep moving._

I nod, and we go back to running. We don’t go far. 

I hear the arrows whistling through the air. Beside me, Hearth lets out a sharp, painful breath. And then he stumbles. And the he crumples to the ground. 

I cry out. My heart beats wildly. Violent shivers shake my body. I feel as though I have been plunged into icy waters. With trembling hands, I grab Hearthstone by the waist and help him wrap his arm around my shoulders. 

Despite his height, he doesn’t weigh much. Usually, I scold him for it, for not eating enough, but today I am glad: it makes it easier to carry him out of the path, into the thick underbrush. 

“Where are you hurt?” I whisper, grabbing his hand in both of mine. 

His lips twitch into a smile. It doesn’t look convincing, at all. _Leg_ , he signs with his free hand. 

I look down. There’s nothing sticking out of his calf, but he is bleeding. I pray that the reason why I can’t see the arrow is that it has only hit him glancingly, that the shaft hasn’t broken inside his leg, that there are no shards in his flesh...

He takes my face between his fingers, tilting it up and forcing my gaze away from his injury. _It hit the side of my leg_ , he signs, _shallow._

I nod, the tightness in my chest loosening, and I find I can breath a little easier. But I know that we still are done for. The giants will find us soon enough; they have dogs to sniff us out, and Hearth’s blood has left a bright green streak through the snow. 

We can’t make a run for it - Hearth can’t run with that leg. 

We could try fighting them off - Heartstone has his magic and I have a sword I can use more or less competently and a valiant attempt at an unbreakable chain (I have been experimenting with paradoxes in my spare time). It’s not enough, not nearly enough, to take down half a dozen giants and their massive hounds. But we’ll make it count.

Hearth’s hands are still on my face, strong and insistent. In his eyes, I can see the same fear and resignation I feel. His hand shakes enough that when he signs, it’s hard to understand his meaning and he has to repeat the motions a few times. _Hush, it’ll be alright_. Tears lace his eyelashes. I know he doesn’t believe it. 

I breathe in. Breathe out. With forced calm. I try not to think about what I’m doing, because if I do, I know I’ll talk myself out of it. But his fingers are soft against my jaw, and his lips are right _there_ and I don’t want to die a coward. I don’t want to die wondering _what if_. I surge up against him. And I kiss him. 

He makes a startled noise against my lips and I almost pull away, but then he tightens his grip on the side of my face, pushing me closer. My hands are gripping his shoulders, and his other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me practically in his lap. I go willingly, mindful of his injured leg. 

Branches tangled in my clothes, and my cloak makes a tearing sound. I was rather fond of that coat, I ought to be cross, I think, a little hysterically. But I suppose it doesn’t matter. 

Because I am about to die. 

Because I am kissing Hearthstone. 

Because Hearthstone is kissing me. 

And this is madness, utter madness, that I can hear the giants drawing ever closer and all I can think of is the burn of his lips against mine, the caress of his hands against my skin. 

I am feverish and dizzy with his closeness, as I kiss his cheeks, the point of his chin, the hollow of his throat. We have seconds at best, and this is all I will ever get. 

And then the dogs start howling. I draw back, and meet his eyes. My heart beats loudly in my chest, and Hearthstone’s breath comes in rough bursts that are halfway between a gasp and a sigh. 

Wordlessly, I help him stand, and we limp our way out of the underbrush. The giants are nowhere in sight, but they must be close. I can hear them shouting. I unsheathe my sword, and Hearthstone tightens his grip on his staff. He’s leaning on it for support, I know. 

We stand, and wait for the fight to find us.


	2. Part 2

The wolves come first. I hear them before I see them: the growls and the the occasional howl, the thundering rhythm of their paws striking the ground. When I do see them, something in my stomach coils and twist, bile rising sharp and bitter at the back of my throat. 

Every last beast is sleek and white-furred and huge, and they move as one against the mud and melting snow. I can’t distinguish the color of their eyes, but I imagine it to be a supernatural, scintillating blue. 

Then their master comes into view, blonde hair pulled back in a tightly coiled braid, gray eyes so pale as to be almost colorless. There are flecks of blood all over her white fur coat, and she is holding a bow in her hands, her grip lax and casual. 

I have never seen her before, but I have no trouble recognizing her: she is one of the worst deities to cross, bitter and petty and with a passion for grudges. (Just ask Loki.) 

_Is that_ signs Hearth. I sign a quick yes, before he even has the chance to start shaping her name, not taking my eyes off her figure as she glides closer. 

Skadi has no sense of decorum. What self-respecting goddess of the hunt uses skis as her primary mode of transportation? Honestly.

She and her wolf pack come to a halt a few feet from us. She takes an arrow from her quiver, spinning it between her fingers and laying the white fletching on her bottom lip before speaking. “Who are you, who trespass into my hunting grounds? I have already killed for that offense, today.”

I shiver goes through me. So that’s why it was taking so long for the frost giants and their dogs to reach us, when they had been in striking distance. They had run into Skadi and her retinue. 

I fall to one knee, dragging Hearthstone with me in the snow. “Oh, magnificent Skadi, forgive your humble kinsdwarf. We did not know this lands were yours. Please allow us to go on our way.” I can’t tell if I’m going overboard with this, and I suddenly wish Sam were here. That girl could sell ice to a Jotun and leave him feeling like he has made a bargain. 

Then again, maybe it’s for the best she isn’t here. Mixing up a child of Loki’s with an already angered Skadi is not the best of ideas. 

The goddess looks down at us, narrowing her pale eyes to slits, her gaze hard as flint. “You are one of Freyja's brats”, she says slowly. 

“So you do know me.”

“No”, she snorts, “but out of all my kin, she is the only one crass enough to couple with a dwarf.” 

I bite down a scathing retort and at my side Hearth draws in a sharp breath. I grab him by the wrist, stopping him before he has a chance to sign anything rude - or worse, grab a runestone. I love the elf, but diplomacy? Not his strong suit. 

_Let me handle this_ I sign quickly (or at least I hope that’s what I signed. I’m not actually that good at it yet, especially when I’m in a hurry). 

Skadi is still peering at me. “You have something of hers”, she says, and it sounds grudging, “about the eyes.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“I didn’t mean that as a compliment”, she says dryly, looking down at her arrow, the tip gleaming in the sunlight, “I suppose I can’t kill you know. It might put a damper on Thanksgiving.”

Relief sweeps through me. “I didn’t know you and Njord had… reconciled.”

She shrugs. “He may have an appalling taste in home décor, but he does have nice legs.”

I definitely could have done without the mental image of my grandfather’s legs, thank you very much. “So I’ve heard.” 

I glance at Hearth, and find him smirking back at me. Now that we’re out of immediate danger, he’s clearly enjoying my embarrassment. The bastard. 

“My marriage counsellor says I have to make an effort to get closer to his children”, continues Skadi, still fidgeting with her weapon. 

“My mother will really appreciate you not killing me.” 

She hums, slipping her arrow back in its quiver. “She’d better. And I’d better not find you still here tomorrow evening.” She whistles sharply, and her wolves turn as one, and set off at a run in the direction they came from. 

Before following them, Skadi slants one last look at me. “Take care, son of Freiya.”

As soon as they’re out of sight, I turn to face Hearthstone properly. His lips are still curled in amusement, but his face is ashen, and he is trembling. The snow around his injured leg is green with blood.

“I’m sorry I made you kneel that long. I was just worried she’d kill us if we weren’t apologetic enough”, I say as I curl my hands around his shoulders, pushing him back to lie on the ground. His body convulses in a shudder and he glares at me.  
“Sorry, sorry” I continue, rummaging through my satchel. He must be freezing - I know I am - and soaked to the bone. “But I need to see to your leg now, it has already gone untreated for far too long for my tastes.” 

I find a small hunting knife, which I use to cut off the leg of his trousers, from the knee down - it’s already shredded and bloodstained, so it’s quick work. 

Next, I find a tiny bottle of liquor, the kind you can find in any Midgardian drugstore. Not as good as disinfectant, but we run out of that some days ago. I pour the liquor liberally all over Hearthstone’s wound and he hisses, arching his back, his hands grabbing at my wrists, trying to pull me off. 

I take one of hands between mine, and give it what I hope is a comforting squeeze, then move one to his wrist, caressing it gently with my fingers. I keep stroking his arm until he has quieted down somewhat, and then crawl up his body to press a kiss against his clammy forehead. _Almost done._

The bandages should come last. Too bad I don’t find any - Magnus must have all of them. The only clean item of clothing we have (I check in Hearth’s satchel too, just to be sure) is one of my shirts - sky blue silk, custom fitted - absolutely gorgeous and absolutely impossible to get bloodstains out of. 

I shrug, give myself a few second to mourn its loss, then tear it into strips. I pull Hearth’s leg into my lap to bind it with the remains of my shirt. His skin is chilly to the touch, and I massage it for a few seconds, to bring some semblance of warmth back to his flesh. 

My work done, I look back up at his face. He is smiling with just one corner of his mouth, his eyes shining with something I can’t name, something warm and fond and amused. It makes my heart skip a beat. _You really liked that shirt._

I feel my face heat up (thank the gods it’s hard to see blushes on my dark skin) and look away. _I like you more._

He pushes himself up to a sitting position, his fingers trailing up my arm. When I look back at his face, he is smiling again, or smiling still, too bright to look at. 

I’m at loss. Where do we stand, now? How do you move on from ‘we’re going to die and I really wanted to get a make out session in before our untimely demise’?

The hand on my arm moves up, to cup my jaw, and Hearthstone leans down to touch his lips to mine, in a kiss that is as gentle as spring rain. 

There is no urgency between us. 

No frenzy. 

No desperation. 

There is only this: his fingers on my face and the press of our mouths. A slow, aching tenderness, and joy that spreads bright and warm in my chest and pushes painfully at my ribs. 

Kissing Hearthstone feels as natural as breathing, as looking, as smiling. And it feels as wondrous and foreign as standing in the midday sun and not turning to stone. 

“I love you”, I tell him, because it’s the truth and because the words have made their way up my throat on their own volition. Because I can’t not say it. And then I sign it, too, for good measure. 

Hearth’s smile widens, his hand trembling as he pushes my curls away from my face. We’re still close enough that we’re breathing the same air, and I shiver with his closeness, and he brings us closer still. _I love you, too_ , he signs, and pulls me in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are curious about Skadi:  
> She's a frost giant, and the Norse goddess of the hunt, winter and skiing (no, I am not making that up).  
> She hates Loki (well, the whole the pantheon hates Loki, but still), because he was responsible for the death of her father, and she was the one who came up with the idea of having a snake spit poison into his eyes during his punishement.  
> Skadi is married to Njord, the god of the sea and the father of Frey and Freyja, but their marriage failed because the couple couldn't settle on where to live. Njord found her mountain homeland too gloomy and didn't fancy being lulled to sleep by the howling of wolves (what a stange bloke, am I right?), while Skadi found his house by the sea too bright and she also apparently really hated the swans. For some reason.  
> The "he has great legs" comment comes from the fact that Skadi had to choose from all the marriagable Aesir and Vanir her husband based on just his bare legs and feet.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Shakespeare, virtual cookies to those of you who can guess from which play ;) 
> 
> I hope you liked it and I'll try to have the next part up as soon as I can!


End file.
